Chapter Twelve
Christina felt her tension dissipate the longer she sat in the library. She loved the rustling quiet in the old building, the sound of pages turning, patrons speaking in hushed voices, the occasional clatter of high heels on the uncarpeted floors. She liked the smell of the books, some fresh off the press, others dusty from years on the shelves. She loved the idea that in every volume in the library there was the potential for a grand adventure, a fantasy escape, or a chance to learn something new. Her father had first introduced her to the library. Before the age of computers he’d done most of his research in big, cavernous buildings such as this one, in every city in the world. And she’d often sat by his side, reading her own books while he lost himself in stories of the past.
Sadness swept over her as she thought about how much trouble they were both in. Would they ever recapture those carefree days when they had been father and daughter without any secrets, without any lies? Would they ever be able to be together without wearing a disguise, meeting in a secret location, worried that someone would see them, call the cops, have them arrested?
It seemed crazy that their lives had turned out like this, especially her life. She wasn’t an adventurer like her father. In fact, she’d played it really safe for as long as she could remember. While her father’s talk of adventure and drama had always appealed to her imagination, she’d felt she couldn’t let loose, because one of them had to be practical, responsible, and that one had always been her. It wasn’t fair. In fact, at the moment it was downright infuriating. She couldn’t allow herself to forget that while she was innocent of any wrongdoing, her father was not. He had stolen that diamond. He had committed a huge crime. And no matter what his reasoning, he was wrong. But even worse than the theft was that he had lied to her. He’d put on a disguise, walked right up to her, and introduced himself as Howard Keaton, pretending to be someone he wasn’t. He’d smiled and joked, knowing all the time he was putting one over on her, and he’d enjoyed every second of it. She still couldn’t believe she hadn’t seen through the disguise.
Maybe J.T was right. Maybe people saw only what they expected to see. She’d certainly never expected to see her father at that party. By coming to Barclay’s, he’d put her job and her life in jeopardy -- and for what? A diamond, a cold, hard, beautiful stone -- but a stone nonetheless. She loved jewelry. She’d spent years studying it, training to be an expert. But she never would have put a diamond before her father. He was her family. They had only each other -- how had he come to forget that? How had he come to value a diamond more than her?
Well, damn him. Damn him for caring more about a stone than his daughter. For loving the past more than the present, for trying to put things right from hundreds of years ago, never mind trying to right the wrongs that were happening today.
Why was she always working so hard to protect him, when it was becoming clearer with each passing day that he had no intention of protecting her?
Oh, sure, he said he’d taken the diamond to do just that -- save her from some terrible curse -- a curse that no one else had ever heard of, including the owner of the diamond. Was her father lying about the curse, too? Or did he believe his own fantasy? She’d worried for years that he might one day slip over the line between reality and fantasy. Was that time now? Had he completely lost his mind? It would almost be easier if he had gone crazy. Then at least there would be a clinical diagnosis for his behavior.
With a sigh, Christina sat back in her chair. She’d settled into a cubicle on the second floor and surrounded herself with books on the Italian Renaissance, and diamonds in particular. If the Benedetti diamond was cursed, then someone besides her father had to know about it. Someone had to have written about it. She just hadn’t found that someone yet.
She rubbed her tired eyes. She was working on adrenaline, fear, and very little sleep. So much had happened in the past few days her head was spinning. If she could just get the world to slow down for a minute, she might be able to think. But no one was waiting for her to catch up; they were running full steam ahead with their plans, plans in which she seemed to play enough of a part to be guilty but not enough of a part to have any say in the matter.
Picking up the next book, she saw that it was about the de Médici family. A merchant and banking family, the de Médicis had practically run Florence for almost three centuries. Their power had extended to the Church and the most powerful European courts.
As Christina thought about the de Médicis, she considered the fact that the Benedettis were another powerful Florentine family in the banking industry. She wondered if their bloodline ran back to the de Médicis. It certainly wasn’t impossible, and it was even more probable that a yellow diamond the size of the Benedetti stone had once belonged to someone rich and powerful like the de Médicis.
Skimming through the next chapter, she read the description of Catherine de Médici’s wedding to Henry, who would later become the king of France, making Catherine his queen. The union had been set up by the pope, the marriage merging two powerful families. An enormous dowry had gone with Catherine to France. Many jewels, including diamonds, had exchanged hands on her wedding day. Several sources noted three particularly interesting pieces, the Egg of Naples, a large pear-shaped pearl encircled by rubies; the Tip of Milan, a hexagonal diamond; and the Table of Genoa, a large, flat-cut diamond. Some believed that the names of the stones represented a secret code between the pope and the king and referred to cities in Italy that the couple would receive. But in later inventories, the jewels were no longer mentioned, and there was some mystery as to what had happened to them.
Christina considered those missing jewels. None matched her yellow diamond, but it certainly gave her pause to consider the possibility that the Benedetti diamond could have been part of the magnificent wedding dowry as well.
Picking up the book again, she read through several more paragraphs. She had studied Catherine de Médici in school and was already familiar with her somewhat sad story, the fact that the French court considered her an Italian upstart with no real breeding and treated her with little respect. Her husband, Henry, had blatantly and flagrantly continued his relationship with his mistress, Diane de Poitiers, throughout the course of his marriage to Catherine. In fact, as proof of his devotion to Diane, Henry often presented her with jewels that should have gone to Catherine. Was it any wonder that the lonely and scorned Catherine had later become known as “Madame Snake,” with secret hideaways for poison rings and daggers?
If the diamond had belonged to Catherine, it could very well be cursed, Christina thought. But how on earth was she going to find out? She needed more detailed information on the exact jewels that had been part of Catherine’s dowry, as well as any precious stones that Henry had given to Diane throughout the years. Of course, she could be completely on the wrong track, but it made sense to her to start with the most famous Florentine family of all. Unfortunately, as much as she longed to dive into research for the next few days or weeks, she didn’t have the time. There had to be a shortcut.
Perhaps if she spoke to Stefano Benedetti again, he would tell her more about the diamond. Even as the thought came to her mind, she immediately dismissed it. Stefano would probably have her arrested before she got one question out of her mouth. Like the others, he believed she had stolen his family’s diamond.
How else could she find the information? Was there something in the books her father kept at his house? He had a library full of old texts, and he had spent many summers in Florence. She might have to go back to his house again...maybe after she was sure the police had already checked it out.
Getting up, she made her way back down to the first floor of the library and over to the bank of computers that would take her onto the Internet. She put several words into the search engine, Medici, Catherine, jewels, diamonds, and wedding dowry. A bunch of sites came up. Most told her nothing new. She needed something more obscure. Tapping her fingers on the desk, she considered how best
to dig into the subject.
Perhaps she was going about it the wrong way. She was starting at the beginning of the trail instead of the end. She shouldn’t be searching for Catherine de Médici but for the Benedettis.
She typed in Vittorio Benedetti and felt a rush of excitement when his name came up. The article was about the recent death of his son, Frances Benedetti, thirty-two, who had been killed in a car accident. Frances had left behind two brothers, Stefano and Daniel, and his father, Vittorio. She checked the date on the article. Six months ago. That was sad.
A shadow fell across her screen, and she started. She was more than a little relieved when J.T. pulled up a chair next to hers. For a moment she’d thought the police had found her. She couldn’t read much from J.T.’s expression. He looked tired. He was still wearing his formal suit from the evening before. She realized he’d never had time to change after spending the night at her apartment, then following her to the fun house and so on. She was almost afraid to ask what had happened at Barclay’s, but she couldn’t stop the question from crossing her lips. “What did you find out?”
He put his arm around the back of her chair. “Everyone thinks you and your father stole the diamond,” he said in a quiet voice.
She cast a quick glance around them, but there was no one within earshot. She’d already known that everyone at Barclay’s was suspicious, but it still hurt to hear him say it so bluntly. “They’re half right. My father did steal the diamond. I just didn’t help him do it.” She paused. “Maybe if I could find him, I could convince him to give it back.”
J.T. raised a skeptical eyebrow. “You think?”
She couldn’t blame him for the cynical response. “He’s not a bad person. He has a good heart. He can be reasonable.”
“Sure. That’s why he went to the trouble of concocting a disguise in someone else’s name, commissioned someone to make him a fake diamond necklace, and then switched it in front of his very own daughter, knowing that every action he took could possibly destroy her life.”
“Well, when you say it like that...”
“There’s no other way to say it, Christina. I’m not trying to hurt you, but you have to face facts. Your father didn’t just steal this diamond on a whim. He had a plan, a very complicated plan, which he carried out.”
“I know. You’re right. I get it.”
“Good. Now tell me, have you made any progress here?”
“Not really. I’ve been trying to trace the diamond. A stone that big and that unusual probably belonged to someone rich and famous, a king or a queen, someone along those lines. The most powerful family in Italy during the Renaissance was the de Médicis. There were many precious stones that were part of Catherine de Médici’s dowry, and it is believed that some of those stones disappeared.” She saw the blank look on J.T.’s face and had a feeling history had not been his best subject.
“Cut to the chase,” he said.
“I can’t. I’m not to the chase yet. Since Catherine lived in the fifteen hundreds, information about her is not that easy to find. I thought I’d go in reverse, start with the Benedettis, another rich and famous Florentine family.”
He nodded approvingly. “I’m more than a little curious about that family.”
“Why?” she asked, seeing a glint of excitement in his eyes.
“When I was at Barclay’s, I reviewed the security tape from the workroom, went over the sequence of events. Stefano Benedetti put the diamond on the display, but when he reached over to push the button to turn the door, his back blocked the view of the diamond.”
She stared at him in confusion. “You think Stefano stole his own diamond?”
“He was the last one to touch it. When you think about it, he was the only one who could have taken it. I checked the space in between the revolving panel. A human could not fit back there. It makes sense. No one would ever look at Stefano as the thief.”
“Because he doesn’t have a motive. Although I guess he could have done it for the insurance money. Did you tell Alexis your theory?”
“She and Kenner dismissed it out of hand. But my gut tells me I’m onto something.”
“Even if Stefano took the diamond, he couldn’t have left the building without being searched,” Christina said.
“At first I thought he might have done just that. But the thing is, no one ever saw him leave. I checked with all the guards. I even went over the tapes from the security cameras fixed on the entrances. There was no evidence that Stefano ever left the building.”
“Maybe he’s still there then.”
J.T. shrugged. “I searched every floor. I didn’t see him. I did, however, have a little chat with Luigi Murano. He was hired by a lawyer representing the Benedetti family to travel with the collection and ensure its safety.”
“I already knew that,” she said, not sure what point he was trying to make.
“There’s more. Luigi said he was surprised when Stefano showed up, because it had been his understanding that none of the Benedettis would be traveling to the United States. He told me that he had never met Stefano before, and once Stefano arrived he handled all communication with the family lawyer.”
“Okay, I see where you’re going. You think that Stefano is really Evan. That’s what you’re saying, isn’t it?”
He nodded. “I have to admit it’s not quite jiving, because I talked to Stefano and I think I would have recognized Evan if he were in disguise.”
“Maybe not. My father stood right in front of me at the preview party when he was masquerading as Professor Keaton, and I didn’t see him. I’m betting I’ve spent more time with my father than you have with Evan. You said before that Evan’s games work because people see what they expect to see.”
“And I assumed that everyone else, including Luigi Murano, had met Stefano before,” J.T. said. “I even asked Murano if they had spoken in Italian. He told me that Stefano only speaks English in the States. He claimed it was more courteous.”
“Or he isn’t fluent in Italian. So what do we do now?”
“We need to find out more about the Benedettis. Put in Stefano’s name. Let’s see what his background is.”
Christina typed in Stefano Benedetti. A moment later several sites came up. The first few were actually about the auction at Barclay’s. She moved farther down the list and clicked on a link. “Here’s something,” she murmured, skimming the article. “Stefano Benedetti broke up with supermodel Francine Galiana just after Valentine’s Day. I guess that doesn’t help.”
“Maybe it does. Click on ‘Images’ and put in Stefano’s name and Francine’s. Supermodels and their dates often have their photographs taken.”
He was right. Sure enough, a picture of the two of them attending a film festival in Cannes appeared. Unfortunately, the photograph of Stefano was not very clear. “He looks like the man we’ve been talking to,” she said.
J.T. rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “It does look like Stefano, sort of. The photo is grainy. Let’s keep going.”
She hit another link, then another. There was nothing particularly newsworthy, mostly gossip line items about Stefano’s playboy ways. Apparently Stefano and his father did not get along well, and Stefano was little more than a figurehead in the family business. His youngest brother, Daniel, had recently become the CEO when their father Vittorio’s health had taken a turn for the worst.
“Wait a second, go back,” J.T. told her.
She automatically hit the back button, not sure what he’d seen that she hadn’t. There was a photo of a racing sailboat. J.T. drew the tip of his finger along the computer screen, underlining the caption. “‘Stefano Benedetti joined the racing team for the final lap of their race around the southern tip of Africa,’” she read. “I still don’t get--”
“The boat doesn’t dock for two more days, Christina,” J.T. said excitedly. “There’s no way Stefano could be there and here.”
She looked into his eyes, wanting to jump on board his bandwagon, but...�
�Wouldn’t Vittorio or the other brother realize that someone was here masquerading as Stefano?”
“Maybe not,” J.T. said with a wave of his hand. “Stefano arrived Wednesday night out of the blue. He came separately from the collection. He introduced himself to Luigi as Stefano Benedetti and no doubt showed him the appropriate identification and knew enough about the collection to discuss it intelligently.”
“Which wouldn’t be difficult to do, since every item in the collection was previewed in our spring catalog that was printed a month ago,” she continued.
“Exactly. As far as the Benedettis are concerned, they sent their collection off with the trusted Luigi Murano.”
“But when Luigi stopped calling the Benedettis’ lawyer, wouldn’t he have gotten suspicious?” Christina argued. “Wouldn’t he have picked up the phone and called Mr. Murano to find out what was happening?”
“We’re talking about a fairly short period of time,” J.T. answered slowly. “Less than forty-eight hours. Evan probably figured exactly the amount of time needed for his ruse to work.”
“Or he could have called the Benedettis’ lawyer as if he were Luigi Murano,” Christina said.
J.T.’s smile lit up his eyes. He grabbed her face and kissed her. “I knew you were a smart girl. I bet that’s exactly what happened. It was a good disguise. No one would question the actions of the owner of the diamond. Evan, as Stefano, stood right there in front of us and slipped that diamond into his pocket just as the turntable went around. And that candy necklace was all Evan. When everyone started screaming, Stefano simply joined in the fray. No one was looking at him. He was the victim. They were looking at you and your father, the perfect scapegoats. That’s it. We figured it out.”
She hated to stick a pin in his happy balloon, but she had no choice. “Even if that’s true, J.T., Stefano is gone and so is the diamond. From where I sit, I’m still in the hot seat and Evan is calling the shots.”
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